By the Picking of the Nose

THE
hit seemed as if it came out of nowhere. There was a whistling
sound that was mutedly audible as the bullet traversed the 10
feet journey from the Beretta 92FS to the bulls' eye marked out
clearly on the forehead. The desired impact was apparent. There
would be a loud noise, not from the actual shot but from the
splattering of the brain on the wall. There would be blood too,
but most of it had already dried out. The hours of torture had
all but deadened her. She had longed for the hit and was almost
relieved when it came.

Before
the end they say there is a moment when life flashes in front of
your eyes in quick succession. Scores of old photographs do a
quick slide show, perhaps in black and white. They will be in
soft tones, like a dream. Hazy! Nebulous! Almost not there. None
of that happened. As she sat in the corner, the only thought that
crossed her mind was how soon this would get over. She was not
aware of her past but was intensely aware of the present. The
smell of fresh paint had hung heavy in the air. The overlooking
environ was all green. It could have been invigorating. The rain
was lashing against the big window pane. What a pitiful waste of
a wonderful day!

There
were other people present there as well.

She looked at that man sitting in the
middle over there…looking preoccupied and distracted. His
shifting glances indicated his distress with his present
situation and desperate need to be elsewhere. He kept glancing at
something under the table. An open field with 15 men somewhere
…

That tall man staring out of the window
pane had the look of a pining lover. Maybe he wasn't pining and
was just hopeful. Maybe the reality of his imminent death escaped
him. Maybe he'd escaped into his lovers waiting
arms.

There was a droning noise too. Someone kept
muttering. There was a buzz and muttering, buzz and muttering. It
was cyclic and if one negated the humdrum then one could hear
just that…the buzz and the muttering.

The glassy eyes looked back at her from
behind the specs. She was sure he was looking at her lustily.
Right now?In this state!? Sicko! She dared to look back and
noticed he was transfixed. He was not looking at her but through
her. To something beyond, in a realm of his own. She did not
exist for him. She wasn't sure if he himself
existed.

The lady played with the end of her
duppatta, twisting it between her fingers and untwisting it back.
Her hand kept going to the lock of hair which was tucked away
behind her ear. With a swift movement she pulled it forward and
tucked it back. No, she couldn't be still.

The last man on the row ... did he now…no
really… o my god… he did…he picked his nose! A surreptitious look
here and there and then quickly took the
chance!

A
light flickered somewhere. It wasn't the light of the afterlife
beckoning to her. A dull whirring sound stopped. She could feel
the heat on her face. It wasn't the muzzle of the Beretta 92FS
unloaded. Just that the heated projector had stopped and the
lights had been switched on.